


The Best By Far is You

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angie x Peggy - Freeform, Angst, Bucky x Steve - Freeform, Child Neglect, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, I May Have Done That Thing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Natasha x Sharon, Nick x Sarah, Sam x T'Challa - Freeform, Sorry Not Sorry, Where All Your Faves Are Gay, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers are as close as two people can be. More than friends, they're family, and neither of them will risk that relationship for anything. And certainly not for ridiculous, unreciprocated *feelings*.Joining up with Sam Wilson to open their own coffee shop, things don't go as smoothly as anyone would like. Plagued by mundane concerns involving finances, awful customers, and nosy friends, it's hard for Bucky and Steve to keep things from changing between them. But then tragedy strikes, and the two men find themselves needing each other more than ever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh! Look at me, back at it again. It's been a while. Adulting and awful stuff like that have kept me from writing, but I'm fairly confident that this is a WIP I will finish. Touch wood. Anyway... I hope you enjoy this.

**_Twenty years ago_ **

Early one Saturday morning, Steve Rogers is woken up by the sound of someone knocking on the apartment’s front door. It’s not really loud--almost timid, as though the person doing it doesn’t actually want anyone to answer--but for some reason it carries.

Steve seriously considers ignoring whoever it is.

But just for a minute.

Even though fatigue gnaws at him, Steve knows that it might be Mr Nelson, who lives in the apartment across from them, or Mrs Parker, who lives down the hall. They check up on him sometimes, and if he doesn’t answer, they might worry. At worst, they might call his Ma to tell her that he hadn’t answered the door.

Sarah Rogers works too hard. The last thing Steve wants is for her to worry.

So, feeling like concrete blocks have been tied to his feet, Steve swings his legs out of bed, and shuffles over to the front door.

“Who is it?” he calls out of habit.

He gets no response.

_Weird._

Hesitating for just a second, Steve abandons his position at the front door to head over to their tiny kitchen. He grabs the chair closest to him, drags it through the sparse living room, and positions it in front of the door.

Too short to peer through the peephole, this is the only way for him to actually see who’s there. Today, the sight takes him by surprise.

A young boy with unruly dark hair is scowling up at the peephole as though he can see Steve there and resents being kept waiting. Steve notices that there’s a duffel bag on the floor at the boy’s feet.

_Huh._

Carefully stepping down off the chair--he’d overbalanced and landed on his butt more than once before--Steve unlocks the door a moment later.

“Friggin’ finally,” the boy bursts out as soon as he catches sight of Steve. “What took ya so long?”

_What a butthead._

“You need somethin’?” Steve asks, not bothering to answer the other boy’s rude query. The sooner he deals with this twerp, the sooner he can get back to bed. His eyelids seem to droop as the thought of sleep beckons to him.

“Duh. Why else’d I be standin’ out here?” the boy retorts.

The thing with Steve is that he’s a bit of a hothead. His Ma likes to tell Steve that he got it from his dad, but Steve’s not too sure about that; Sarah Rogers is a firecracker. But the point is that Steve doesn’t like rude people, especially people who knock on his door at what feels like the butt crack of dawn on a Saturday morning. He doesn’t let the bigger kids at school push him around, and he isn’t going to let this stranger do it either.

Without another word, Steve makes to shut the door in the other boy’s face.

“Hey, wait!” the boy protests. Sticking his foot out--he misses, but it’s enough to make Steve pause--the scowl melts from the boy’s expression. “Please, I’m lookin’ for Mrs Rogers. Sarah Rogers.”

A less than kind impulse makes Steve want to tell the boy that Sarah Rogers doesn’t live here, but he ignores the urge. Even if this boy is kind of a jerk, his Ma hadn’t raised a liar.

“She’s at work,” Steve admits grudgingly.

The boy’s shoulders sag with what appears to be relief. It’s then that Steve notices that the other boy’s eyes are red, as is the tip of his nose.

_Oh._

“You wanna come in?” he asks after a moment. “I can call her, if you want.”

An eager nod, and the boy doesn’t wait for a second invitation. He swings the duffel bag over his shoulder before staggering slightly under its weight. The boy glares at Steve, as though daring him to laugh.

Steve wisely says nothing.

“What’s your name?” he asks once he’s shut the door behind the other boy.

“What’s yours?” the boy shoots back.

_For Pete’s sake._

“I’m Steve Rogers. Sarah Rogers is my Ma.” He expects the boy to respond by introducing himself, but instead the boy peers at him closely.

“Is she nice?”

“Who?”

“Your Ma, dummy!”

“Course she’s nice. She’s the best mom in the world. What kinda dumb question is that?”

_This kid must be touched in the head,_ Steve decides. Because instead of being offended by Steve’s sharp tone, the other boy looks relieved.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the boy says after a brief silence. He sticks out a hand--his knuckles are scraped, Steve notices--and offers a small smile. “But my--Most people call me Bucky.”

“Well, it's nice to meet ya,” Steve lies--it's only okay if you're being polite--as he accepts Bucky’s hand. “Can ya tell me what ya doin’ here ‘fore I call my Ma? I don't wanna bug her ‘less it's an emergency.”

Silence broken only by the sound of James-- _Bucky_ \--scuffing his shoe against the worn living room carpet. His shoulders are up by his ears, and Steve wonders if Bucky’s going to cry. Steve hopes not because he _never_ knows what to do when people cry.

“My mom sent me,” Bucky whispers finally. “She said Mrs Rogers would watch me for a li’l bit.”

Being a kid--and a smart one, at that--Steve’s first instinct is to ask why. But he's not a total butthole. Bucky doesn't look like he wants to talk about it, and Steve is too tired to be as nice as he probably should be. So, heaving a sigh, he heads over to the old fashioned telephone resting on the kitchen counter. There, in his Ma’s neat handwriting, is her emergency number, even though Steve had had it memorised years ago.

“We got OJ in the fridge. You can have some if you want,” Steve offers as he dials.

He looks over his shoulder when Bucky doesn't answer, and he sees that the other boy doesn't seem to know what to do. Steve lets out another sigh, louder this time, picks up the phone to carefully hold it under his arm while he waits for his Ma to answer his call. Watching to make sure he doesn't trip over the cable--it's happened before--Steve goes over to the fridge to get the juice carton. The door closes with the gentle clink of rattling glass.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the carton at Bucky.

“Don't you have a glass or somethin’?” Bucky asks, instead of saying thank you.

_Jerk._

“Who needs a glass?” Steve huffs. “Nobody died from just a little bit of spit.”

_Okay, Ma might not agree with that, but she don't need to know._

“That's gross,” Bucky tells him.

Still, he opens up the carton and takes a long swig of juice. The smile that splits his face then is big and happy and nice. So nice that Steve can’t help but return it.

_Maybe Bucky isn't so bad, for a jerk anyway._

_\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

**_Present Day_ **

“Oh, c’mon, why not?”

“It feels dishonest.”

“Jesus, Rogers, you’re killin’ me here,” Bucky says exasperatedly. “It’s called _marketing_. Traditional family recipe sounds better than shit I learned to make on youtube.”

“ _Youtube?”_ Steve repeats incredulously. “I’m sorry, but did you blank out on the _four years_ I spent in culinary school?”

“Culinary school? You went to culinary school?” Bucky widens his eyes in mock amazement. “‘Cause I don’t remember that.” Backing up as Steve advances on him, Bucky pretends to think about it before shaking his head. “Nope. You sure? I mean, you, with a degree?”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Better’n bein’ a punk.”

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it.”

And with that, Steve lunges at him.

This kind of play has gotten easier since Steve went through his ridiculously improbable growth spurt. Once a skinny asthmatic with matchstick arms and ribs that stuck out through his skin, Steve had… filled out. To put it mildly. Now, he’s tall and broad and buff and…

_Yeah, probably best not to think about that._

So the familiar pushing and shoving ensues, and Steve tackles him, sending them both sprawling onto the living room floor. They narrowly miss the coffee table, and the next few minutes are spent twisting and wriggling around until Steve _cheats_ , and pokes Bucky in the goddamn ribs. It gives him the opportunity to flip Bucky onto his back to continue tickling him. Laughter echoes through the small apartment. Their voices are far deeper than they once were, but it’s almost as though Bucky can hear high pitched giggles underlying the sound.

Bucky fights back a sigh as nostalgia creeps up on him.

Shit was so much easier back then.

“Uh, hello? Earth to Buck. Anybody in there?”

Looking up at the dumbass human labrador peering down at him, Bucky feels that familiar swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Although, to be fair, that’s been happening to Bucky pretty much since the day he’d met Steve.

“Sorry,” he says, choosing not to flash his usual cocky smirk. “An’ I know how hard you worked to get through school. Only person prouder’n me is your Ma.”

Steve, the dork, blushes. The faint colour travels down his throat into his t-shirt, and Bucky wants to follow it’s path with his tongue.

_No, no, bad Bucky, bad._

Also, they’re probably too old to be rough housing like this. Gently, he pushes Steve away so that he can sit up. It’s as Bucky’s about to make some smartass comment--he forgets what it was--when he glances over at Steve to find that Steve is staring him.

His expression is unusually intent. It makes Bucky uncomfortable, even as he’s unable to look away.

“Steven? James? Are you boys in here?”

And just like that, the spell is broken. Bucky and Steve get immediately to their feet as Sarah Rogers steps into the living room. When she catches sight of them, a warm smile lights up her entire expression and it makes her eyes crinkle at the corners the same way Steve’s do. Once again, Bucky and Steve are pushing and shoving at each other, this time trying to be the first to reach Sarah for a hug.

More dirty tricks are involved, and Bucky beats Steve there after tripping him up. Sarah laughs, even though she's long since gotten used to their antics.

“You two are ridiculous,” she says fondly, returning Bucky’s hug.

“An’ you got no maternal loyalty,” Steve accuses, putting on a wounded expression. If it weren't for the faintest twitch of his mouth, Bucky would've thought Steve was serious.

Steve can make with the Bambi eyes like no one’s goddamn business.

“Try harder next time, Rogers,” he shoots back, sneaking in a quick peck to Sarah’s cheek before pulling away.

“Jerk,” Steve mutters, shouldering passed him to embrace his mother.

Stepping back to watch the two, Bucky smiles, even as his chest aches. Aside from Becca, they're the only family he has. There's not a damn thing he wouldn't do for either Sarah or Steve which is why he's gotta keep his goddamn mouth shut.

“Tell me,” Sarah says after Steve’s squeezed her tight, lifting her right off her feet. “What are you boys up to tonight?”

“I figured Buck an’ me would make you dinner,” Steve suggests.  “Well… I'd make you dinner, an’ Buck would make sure your glass is never empty.”

Bucky lazily flips him off.

“You're going to spend the whole night with me?” Sarah asks, dismayed. “But it's a Saturday night.”

“So?”

“So, you're young. Go out and, I don't know, play beer pong. Whatever that is.”

“Think you're mistakin’ us for fratboys,” Bucky says idly.

“Well, you never got to do the things college kids are supposed to do,” Sarah protests. “Steven was always busy with school, and when he wasn’t, he was home trying to fatten me up. And you, James, you were always working.”

That was true. Even though Sarah and Steve had made it clear that Bucky was part of the family, he hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling that he was leeching off of them. So, as soon as he’d been able, Bucky had gotten a job to pitch in where he could.

Bucky had refused to let Sarah give him money for college, and so instead of doing the whole higher education thing, he’d gone to the university of life.

Usually, Steve would scoff at that, but it’s the truth. The Rogers family had never had a lot of money, and there weren’t a whole lot of people willing to hire a cocky high school kid without any work experience. So Bucky had had to hustle.

It’d taught him a lot; mostly it’d proved that the old adage about it not being what you know, but rather who you know was completely true.

Which is why he, Steve, and Sam--one of the few friends Steve had made during high school--are going to be the perfect team. Steve will cook, Sam will do the books, and Bucky will do whatever the hell else that comes with owning a coffee shop.

Easy.

At least, that's what Bucky’s trying to tell himself.

And Sarah does have a point. Neither Bucky nor Steve had done much in the way of partying during their younger years. They exchange a brief glance, a wordless communication passing between them.

“You sure you'll be alright?”

The unimpressed look on Sarah’s face is answer enough to that question.

Fifteen minutes later, Bucky and Steve are on the subway, headed downtown. Brooklyn’s become infested with hipsters and the like, and it's enough to make Bucky want to stick his head in a blender. He likes ironic t-shirts as much as the next guy, but when they're paired with douchey mustaches and lens-less thick rimmed glasses, Bucky has to draw the line.

They're headed to _The Golden Archer_ , a bar owned by one of the strangest guys Bucky’s ever met. A former Olympian who’d specialised in archery, Clint Barton is fluent in several languages, but will resort to ASL and pointing helplessly at his hearing aid when he’s not in the mood to deal with customers. Barton also gives his three legged dog, Lucky, free run of the bar.

God help the clumsy fucker to step on Lucky’s paw or tail.

Bucky and Steve step into the bar, and are immediately assaulted by the smell of beer and the sound of hair metal blaring from speakers set off to the side of the room. The crowd fits in with the noise, with no one wearing anything more fancy than jeans and t-shirts. From the corner of his eye, Bucky can see a group of bikers monopolising the pool table.

“Y’know, I’m kinda surprised Barton doesn’t rock a mullet,” Bucky says loudly to Steve after he’s done checking out the crowd. From beside him, Steve laughs, and the sound makes something weird happen in the pit of Bucky’s stomach. Almost as though he’d missed a step going downstairs.

_Dumbass. You should be used to it by now._

“He did back in the nineties.”

“No way.”

Leaning in closer so that he can be heard, Steve’s lips are a hairsbreadth away from Bucky’s skin. It makes him shiver.

“There’s a picture of him ‘round here somewhere. I just can’t remember...” Steve pulls away now, scanning the walls as though expecting the image to just leap out and start waving at him. During some point in their conversation, he’d taken a hold on Bucky’s wrist, and his thumb is tracing absently over Bucky’s skin.

It borders on pathetic that just that innocent touch can make Bucky start sweating. Especially since--Steve being the tactile asshole that he is--it’s something else he should be used to.

“You want me to get you a beer while you look for it?” Bucky asks. If his voice is slightly strained, he trusts that the music will drown it out.

“Sure.”

Then, releasing his hold, Steve starts moving along the perimeter of the bar, staring intently at every photograph he comes across, and apologising politely whenever he gets in someone’s way.

Yeah, if they weren’t working on getting _Average Joe’s_ set up tomorrow, Bucky would be seriously considering getting blackout drunk.

_Next time._

Shouldering his way through the small crowd, Bucky manages to get to the bar without incident.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he greets the woman serving drinks.

“Fuck off,” she answers without even bothering to glance in his direction. It’s only when Bucky lets out a loud bark of laughter that she looks over at the source of the unwelcome compliment. As soon as she sees Bucky, she relaxes.

“Hi, Barnes, good to see you,” she says evenly.

“You sure about that?”

Kate Bishop’s expression races through several emotions--amusement, embarrassment, resignation--before finally settling on exasperated.

“Well, how the hell else am I supposed to respond?” she huffs. “Comment like that’s usually followed up by somethin’ like, ‘Nice ass’ or ‘Can I come on your face’.”

“That’s disgusting,” Bucky says with feeling. “You get Clint to deal with ‘em?”

“What makes you think I need Clint’s help?”

Pausing, Bucky thinks about all the times he’s seen Kate deal with assholes at the bar, be they the ones harassing her, or the ones just being unruly in general. Never once has she looked like she needed anyone to come to her rescue.

“Good point.”

For a moment, Kate’s preoccupied with pouring drinks for a couple of older guys in worn suits. She flashes them a brief smile before collecting her tip and turning her attention back to Bucky.

“Saw you and your boyfriend coming in,” she begins teasingly.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Bucky sighs.

“Doesn’t stop you from wanting to lick him from top to bottom,” Kate points out.

The image flashes through his head before he can stop it, and Bucky aims a killing glare in her direction.

“I really don’t like you.”

Kate takes a full minute to laugh at him before asking what she can get him.

“Two beers.”

“Comin’ right up.”

While he waits, Bucky takes a second to scan the crowd. His eyes skitter passed Steve for just a second before he jerks his gaze back. While Bucky’s usually prepared to bet that he could spot Steve in the midst of a crowd ten times as big as this, he thinks he can be forgiven for missing Steve this time. And that's because the big lug is bent down, talking and laughing with a petite redhead.

_Fuck._

See, this is the worst part-- _worst part;_ this whole fucking thing is the _worst part--_ about Bucky being in love with his best friend is that he can’t actually tell Steve that he’s in love with him. For a whole host of reasons, beginning and ending with the fact that Bucky’s a chicken shit.

Because the thing is… if Bucky ever managed to muster the courage to actually say the words, too open up to Steve and say, ‘ _Rogers, I love you_ ’, Steve would try. The selfless asshole would want to make Bucky happy, and so he would attempt to force feelings he didn't share. And it would change things when Steve eventually admitted that he just didn't love Bucky that way.

Bucky would gladly consign himself to the occasional cold, impersonal fuck before he let his stupid fucking feelings ruin their friendship.

Accepting the beers from Kate with a nod of thanks, Bucky weaves his way through the crowd. As he makes his way toward Steve, Bucky takes the opportunity to study the redhead.

She’s petite but, from where Bucky’s standing, he can tell that she’s got an ass to kill for. And, judging by the look on Steve’s face, her front can’t be too bad either.

“Buck, hey,” Steve says as he gets closer. His whole dumb face lights up and for a second Bucky thinks it’s all for him. Until Steve turns that expression on the redhead before making introductions. “Nat, this is Bucky. Buck, this is Natasha. She knows where Barton keeps all his dirty laundry.”

“Literally and figuratively,” Natasha says with a wry smile. Then, she extends her hand to Bucky. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She’s got a really firm grip, Bucky can’t help but notice.

“Yeah, you too,” Bucky says, forcing a smile. He looks down at the drinks in his hands and winces. “Uh, here,” he says quickly, passing one beer over to Steve. To Natasha, he asks, “Can I get you something? Or you can have my--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Natasha assures him with a wave of her hand. “I’m fine.”

“You can just share with me,” Steve suggests easily. “But only if you promise to help us find the mullet picture.”

“Done,” Natasha agrees. Casually taking the beer bottle from Steve’s hand, she takes a sip before sauntering off. Steve’s eyes widen as he watches her go; it makes Bucky grind his teeth.

_This is gonna be a long night._


	2. Chapter 2

**_Twenty Years Ago_ **

“You sent him on the _bus?_ From Queens to Brooklyn?” Sarah Rogers hisses into the phone. She casts a furtive glance over her shoulder at where Steve and the little boy are sitting, and lowers her voice further. “He’s barely ten.”

“Eleven,” Winifred corrects distractedly. “An’ I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Sarah takes a deep breath to keep from blowing a gasket. Aware of the kids listening attentively, she works to keep her voice even as she asks, “Would you like to explain that?”

But there isn’t any need for Winifred to reply. Almost as soon as the words are out of Sarah’s mouth, she hears a bellow that makes her jerk the phone away from her ear.

“Where the hell’re ya?” a slurred voice demands. “Fred, fuckin’ answer me.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“Look, I just need you to keep James for a day or two,” Winifred says hurriedly. “Just ‘til things cool down here.”

And just what exactly is Sarah supposed to say to that? No, I won’t keep a child out of a potentially volatile situation?

Apparently Winifred’s thinking the same thing. And so, with a barely audible, “ _Thanks_ ”, she hangs up. For a long moment, Sarah just stands there with the phone pressed to her ear.

_Great. Just great._

Blowing out an exasperated breath, Sarah turns to Steve and James, and offers them a bright smile.

“Who’s hungry?”

“Me,” Steve says immediately. Kid burns through calories like nothing Sarah’s ever seen. If it weren’t for the asthma and the various food allergies, she’d have had a hard time keeping up with him. It’s hard not to pull him into a tight hug as affection overwhelms her.

“Well, Steve, we’re going to let James decide what he wants to eat, okay? Because he’s--”

“A guest,” Steve fills in. He turns to the other little boy to tell him seriously, “Ma makes amazing pancakes.”

 _Subtle, kiddo,_ Sarah thinks wryly _._

“Uh, yeah, okay.” And then, in a mumble, James adds, “Don’t think I ever had pancakes before.”

Steve’s eyes look like they’re about to fall out of his head.

“Never?” he whispers disbelievingly. When James gives a quick jerk of his head no, Steve immediately turns to look at Sarah. “Ma, we gotta. Please?”

“Yeah, please?” James chips in after a quick glance at Steve. It’s creates a sharp pang in Sarah’s chest at the way the boy seems to be looking to Steve for guidance in the unfamiliar situation.

And so, confronted by two pairs of wide, puppy dog eyes, Sarah caves.

“Alright. But I need you two to set the table.”

Sarah gets to work, whipping up the batter, and while she’s busy, she listens to the boys’ chatter. Well, mostly Steve’s. He peppers James with question after question, and barely stops long enough to listen to the other boy’s answer.

It's nice. Steve doesn't seem to get on too well with most kids his age. Maybe this can be the start of a friendship.

_Better make sure these pancakes are extra delicious._

_\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

**Present Day**

The moan of ecstasy that seems to escape Bucky without his permission is unsettling. Steve looks up from his plate to quirk his eyebrows questioningly at his best friend. And if he has to fight the urge to shift in his seat at the sound, well, nobody but him has to know.

“You okay over there, buddy?”

“I'm amazing,” Bucky says once he's swallowed. He turns to look over at Sarah with what can only be described as a worshipful expression. “Doesn't matter how often you make these pancakes, ma’am, every time I have ‘em is like the first time.”

“Suck up,” Steve mutters, taking a bite of his own pancake.

“Only suckin’ up if it ain't true, Stevie,” Bucky replies solemnly. “An’ this right here is heaven on a plate.”

Sarah lets out a scoff, even as a fond smile tugs at her lips.

As it turns out, Steve isn’t the only Rogers with a soft spot for Bucky Barnes because, after casting a furtive look at Steve, Sarah sneaks another pancake onto Bucky’s plate.

Still, despite the mock scowl Steve sends in their direction, he can’t imagine being happier than he is in this moment. Because even though Bucky doesn’t think of Steve like _that,_ he’s still here. Eating Sarah’s pancakes and smirking over at Steve from across the kitchen table.

It’s just like it’s always been. The three of them, together.

He never wants it to change.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You ever think we’re too old for this?”

“Too old for what?” Steve asks distractedly, not looking up from the youtube video he's watching. A really chatty blonde chick fills the computer screen, her brows creased in concentration as she focuses folding napkins into unlikely shapes. It'd be the perfect thing to try at _Average Joes._ Steve’s stomach swoops at the thought.

They open up next week.

_Gah._

“Asshole, you’re not even listenin’,” Bucky complains, swatting him on the shoulder and startling Steve out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

Bucky rolls his eyes before gesturing between them at the couch cushions on the floor. They’d been sleeping like this since they were kids, through their teenage years, and then even after, when Bucky had moved out, but still slept over sometimes.

It’d occurred to Steve, occasionally, but he often just shoved the thought away. If this is the only intimacy he can have with Bucky, he… well, he kinda wants to hold onto it.

But he’s not gonna _say_ that. So instead, he plays it down.

“I’m only here ‘cause you’re scared of the dark.”

As expected, the comment earns Steve a snort of laughter, even though Bucky is clearly trying to stifle it.

“Dude, I was eleven years old an’ sleepin’ on a stranger’s couch,” he protests. Steve can hear Bucky shifting around on the cushions, and even though the only lighting comes from Steve’s laptop, he can feel Bucky’s gaze on him. He wonders if his expression gives anything away.

“You ever think about that day?” Bucky asks quietly. All traces of amusement are gone, leaving him sounding unusually serious.

“Sometimes.”

_Only every night when I thank God for sending you to me._

“‘S almost enough for me to forgive Fred for bein’ such a shitty mom.”

_Damn. Conversations about Winifred Barnes never end on a happy note._

“When’s the last time you two talked?” Steve asks as he shuts the laptop and sets it aside. He scoots down, moving to lie on his side so that he’s facing Bucky.

“Couple days ago. I wanted to take Becca out after school Tuesday. Dunno when I’ll get a chance to do it once _Average Joe’s_ is up and runnin’.”

“Bet she’d love that,” Steve says with a smile. Bucky’s younger sister is the sweetest kid he’s ever met. Whip smart with a gentle disposition, Becca Barnes is the only reason Bucky’s still in contact with his mother.

Something Winifred isn’t shy about using to her advantage.

“Maybe she would,” Bucky agrees. “But I wouldn’t know. Fred wouldn’t let me talk to her.”

“Shit,” Steve breathes.

“Yup.”

“‘M sorry.” Steve reaches out through the space between them to squeeze Bucky’s shoulder. “Wish there was somethin’ I could do.”

“You do more’n you know,” Bucky whispers. And then, taking Steve completely off guard, Bucky grabs the hand Steve had rested on his shoulder and presses a quick kiss to the knuckles. Low words are mumbled into his skin on a warm exhalation of breath, and Steve feels like his heart’s about to leap out of his chest.

Steve can’t bring himself to move, and before long, Bucky’s deep breathing indicates that he’s fallen asleep.

At least one of them will be getting some rest tonight.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_Twenty Years Ago_ **

“... two days now. What the hell is goin’ on there?” Mrs Rogers demands. “No, he’s not givin’ me trouble. He’s a really sweet kid. But I need to tell him something. An’ what about school?”

Letting out a resigned sigh, Bucky knocks quietly on the bathroom door. It’s a Sunday night and his mom still hasn’t been by to get him.

Doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen tonight either.

He hears Mrs Rogers whispering into the phone, irritation ringing clear in her voice, before the door is pulled open. Her expression immediately softens when she sees him.

“Everything okay, James?” she asks gently.

“I dunno,” he says. “Is that my mom?”

Mrs Rogers winces, glancing guiltily over at the receiver still clutched in her hand.

“Yeah. Do you wanna…?”

Not really. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he reaches out to accept the phone. Watching as Mrs Rogers steps away to give him some privacy--hard to do, in this tiny apartment--Bucky reluctantly brings the receiver up to his ear.

“Mom.”

“Hey, sweetie! You havin’ fun?”

“Sure am.”

Silence, and when Winifred speaks again, her voice has taken on that gently chiding tone she uses whenever she thinks he’s being unreasonable.

“Are you pouting, James?”

That’s what she always says whenever he gets mad at her. And maybe she’s right; maybe he is just being a brat.

“No, mom.”

“Good. ‘Cause I just need another day or two with Brock, okay? He’s just a little cranky, but soon as I got him calmed down, you can come home.”

Bucky doesn’t want to go home, not if Brock, his mom’s boyfriend, is still there. He’s a mean drunk. Sometimes he punches the wall and breaks things.

“Okay,” Bucky agrees reluctantly. Then he asks, “What ‘bout school?”

“You can go with Sarah’s kid. What’s his name? Pete?”

“It’s Steve,” Bucky corrects with a scowl.

“I was close enough. Now, you know I love you, honey. Sleep tight.”

And then, before Bucky can say anything else, Winifred hangs up. Bucky spends a couple of minutes in the bathroom, just staring at the phone, trying to stifle the tears.

When he comes out again, Sarah is reading a magazine on the couch, and Steve is scowling down at one of his school books. But as soon as Bucky appears in the doorway, he’s got Steve’s attention.

Waiting until Bucky’s come over to sit beside him, Steve leans over, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“You okay?”

Bucky swallows hard. He doesn't want Sarah to get all offended or whatever when he says he just kinda wants to go home, to his own bed and his own stuff. But, looking across at Steve, Bucky has to admit that things aren't _too_ bad. At least he's made a friend

“Yeah, I'm alright,” he whispers back.

And for the next twenty years, every time he looks at Steve, things get a little better than just _alright_.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_Present Day_ **

“Oh, God, I think I'm gonna hurl.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you're quite the drama queen?” a crisp British voice at his elbow asks.

Glancing over at Peggy Carter, aka the sandwich queen, Steve tries to pull a face, mostly unsuccessful. The truth is, yes, he's been told that tons of times, mostly by his Ma and, later, by Bucky, once he learned what the expression meant. And Steve knows they're totally right. Totally and completely, one hundred percent accurate.

But there’s a difference between knowing that he's a ‘drama queen’, and actually being able to put a lid on his more… overwrought tendencies.

Especially since it’s four o’clock on a Monday morning, and he’s operating on roughly three hours of sleep.

_This is gonna be a disaster._

“Why did we do this?” he whispers as he watches the finishing touches being put on _Average Joes_ . He, Buck and Sam had managed to find some second hand furniture--they were going for an _eclectic_ look, Bucky had reasoned--and managed to spruce the stuff up. And after some help from Peggy in leveling the damn tables without them looking like they were made for friggin’ hobbits, Steve has more or less assumed they were set.

_Nothing like good old fashioned niggling doubt to make you wanna toss your cookies._

“Take deep breaths, Steven,” Peggy instructs. She takes his arm in a surprisingly firm grip to steer him over to a rickety chair. “Everything is going to be fine. You'll see. Do you want me to make you some tea?”

“Tea!” Steve says, half-hysterically. “How're we gonna compete with Starbucks? They make everything. And have you tried their pumpkin spice lattes? They’re--”

Through the rising panic, Steve hears Peggy heaving an exasperated sigh. It’s followed immediately by a sharp slap.

“What the hell, Peg?” he yelps, the shock jolting him out of his rambling.

“You were being hysterical,” Peggy replies, unperturbed. “Now, pull yourself together and go do something useful. Go iron a tablecloth or something.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve mumbles. He rubs at his cheek as he hurries off to hide in the kitchen where, hopefully, he can freak out without fear of assault.

No such luck.

“Man, this gonna be great,” Sam says with a grin. “I can’t wait for us to get started.” He’s standing at the kitchen sink, carefully inspecting the cutlery for blemishes before wiping at the imagined marks feverishly. Sam’s smile is so wide and bright, it easily outshines the crappy fluorescent lighting.

“How can you be excited about this?”

“How can you _not_ ?” Sam counters. “Look at this,” he says, gesturing expansively at their slightly dingy industrial kitchen. “This is all ours; _we_ did this.”

Sam’s enthusiasm manages to break through Steve’s gloom. He even manages a half-hearted smile.

It’s easy to get caught up in the _what ifs_. What if this whole thing was a colossal failure? What if they’d gotten themselves into all this debt for nothing? What if one of their customers got food poisoning and they all had to deal with lawsuits for the rest of their lives?

What if it was everything they’d ever dreamed of?

 _Least we got each other,_ Steve reminds himself. _Anything that heads our way, we’ll deal with it._

Cheesy as it may sound, it’s comforting. And so, letting out a deep breath, he joins in in making sure everything is perfect for when they open. There isn’t time for doubt.

_Head down, an’ keep movin’, Rogers._

_Just keep movin’_.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There's a lot of stuff that Bucky thinks he's pretty good at. Well, that's not entirely true. He's good at dragging Steve’s dumb ass outta trouble, making Becca giggle at his lame jokes, and, when the urge strikes, he can talk some pretty twink out of his shorts.

Nothing to brag about, all things considered.

But apparently, he can now add barista to the list of stuff he doesn't suck at.

 _Average Joes_ has been open for a grand total of five and a half hours, and a steady trickle of people have made their way in. Some were there out of curiosity, others looking to escape the degenerates who thought _Mark with a C_ meant _Cark_.

At the counter adjacent to where Bucky is brewing the coffee, Peggy is busying herself making the most delicious sandwiches Bucky’s ever seen. He's half tempted to leap across the counter to grab at one.

“Don't even think about it,” Peggy warns. She doesn't even look up from where she's buttering fresh ciabatta rolls.

“Not even one?” Bucky pleads.

“These are for customers who don't have time to wait for their lunch to be prepared. They want to be able to stop, buy their sandwich, and be on their way. If I give you one, there will be one less to sell.”

That's a good point.

“Please?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Luckily for Bucky, that's when the front door to the shop opens, the little bell giving a cheer _tring_. Glancing up automatically, Bucky feels his welcoming smile freeze on his face.

_Shit._

It's the redhead from Saturday night.

And this time she's accompanied by two other women, one blonde, the other with dark brown hair. All gorgeous.

Bucky wonders if his insurance will cover work related accidents that involve him sticking his head in one of Steve’s ovens.

“Welcome to _Average Joes,_ ” Peggy greets. “How can we help you this morning?”

“Uh, hi,” Natasha says, sounding uncertain. “I'm looking for Steve.” Then, spotting Bucky, she adds with a smile, “Hey. Is he in?”

_No._

“Yeah, in the back,” Bucky replies. He lifts the hatch, and gestures for Natasha to step on through.

Natasha gives him a smile of thanks that he tries hard to return. It feels stiff and awkward and for fuck’s sake, why can't he be normal for two goddamn minutes?

No one seems to notice, though. The two remaining women are eyeing the sandwiches.

“Okay, we are _not_ leaving here without one of these,” the brunette announces. She drags her friend over to the counter to visually devour everything on display. Including, unless Bucky is very much mistaken, Peggy.

_Fuckin’ A. Maybe we should turn this dump into a datin’ service._

A couple more people filter in, providing a welcome distraction. Bucky makes small talk, serving up three lattes, and a mocha.

 _Jeez, what happened to the days where coffee shops actually served_ coffee? Bucky grouses internally.

_God, I’m turnin’ into an old timer._

“Sweet baby Moses, king of the Jews,” a loud voice exclaims. The brunette who’d been eyeing Peggy has a look of awe on her face. Only this time, it’s aimed at the sandwich she’s just taken a huge bite out of. “This is _so good._ Way better than the last orgasm I had.”

Peggy’s cheeks pinken at the words, and the blonde rolls her eyes fondly.

“Over share, Angie,” she scolds.

“Shut up,” Angie retorts with her mouth full. “You need to try one. There's this sauce…” She trails off to swallow, letting out a moan that can only be described as obscene.

Girl’s good.

And that's pretty much when Bucky’s amusement fades. Because another girl with mad flirting skills emerges from the kitchen with Steve behind her.

Natasha and Steve are grinning at each other like two misbehaving kids, making a pang of jealousy shoot through Bucky’s chest.

Damn it, he doesn't want to be like this. Natasha seems like an awesome woman. She'd made Steve laugh for most of Saturday night, she'd handed them their asses playing pool, and she actually seemed interested in Steve beyond his admittedly impressive biceps.

Bucky should be shoving the two of them together. If he was any kind of friend, that's exactly what he'd be doing.

Fuck.

“Man the counter for me, Rogers,” he says abruptly. “Need a smoke break.”

“Thought you quit,” Steve says, even as he back pedals to take Bucky’s place. He peers at Bucky curiously, and Bucky consciously avoids his gaze.

“Sometimes I slip,” Bucky replies with a thin smile. “Be back in five.”

That should be enough time for him to pull his head outta his ass.


End file.
